Category Archives: Poetry


they smoke weed
in their backyards,
keep austin weird
on their compact cars,
bad haircuts,
tattoo sleeves,
indie rock,
blue jeans.

wear their vintage clothes
out on friday nights,
whiskey dive bars
pocketful of lights,
at friend’s
live shows with
their backstage pass
dr pepper
a double jack.

they paint abstract
in the nude
eat lucky strikes
vegan food.
take coffee breaks
at the cafe,
they say:

we’re weird

but they’re all the same.


rebel without a cause

i’m tired.

it’s this scene


this house


this mouse.

this music, this whiskey,


these spent cigarettes

soaked in broken

longneck bottles.

these half-hearted

wannabe hippie

nicotine dreams

all ashes now,

because we’ve got

this pet mouse here in rip city

who burned down our house

that we always called james dean


it wasn’t his fault really

but i’m actually kinda glad

because it’s time for me

to get the hell out of Portland.

/ 4 \

tequila notebook {4}

i saw those blinking lights again last night.

i had seen my stalker again earlier down by the swimming pool. she had been at the hole in the wall too. she was an american & had bleached blonde hair that was pulled back by a pair of designer sunglasses

her roots splayed out looked like mangrove trees. she wasn’t unattractive, so i was content to talk. i understood the thing she had done with her sunglasses.

my hair is long and dirty like a hippies now. i am constantly searching for things to keep it out of my face.

anyways, i had been taking a walk on the nature path near sunset and I was sure that I had seen her again behind me. but it was just a crocodile.

i considered merging with her and the crocodile like I saw once of the cover of the codex seraphianus, but instead I ran.

it was darker now and i was being chased down an incline by a bicyclist with a colt .45 strapped to the side of his hip. he thought I was trying to escape. maybe I was.

he caught up eventually and shot me in the head. i bled all over the brick paved concrete. the road turned red. watusas came by & ate my flesh.

chepogwa took a wheelbarrow & carried me back to the ocean. he dumped my body in the salt. i’m dead now.

i saw the lights. not right before i died but chasing me down the hill. the watchmen here carry flashlights.

i don’t expect i will be writing anymore. it is difficult to procure a pen or paper in the afterlife.

/ 3 \ party animal crackers

tequila notebook {3}

i’m a party animal. a party animal is soft on the outside, with green gooey innards. party animals drink cheap beer & get sand in there toes. they hit a ball in the air & over a net with a man name gunner who gaurds docked boats.

party animals shells get hard & red in the sun. they leave the beach for the salt. they wish they had gills so they could swim to the deepest part of ocean where the sun cannot reach them.

if party animals had gills, they would swim forever. fish don’t need diesel. they just eat each other.

if party animals could be any fish, though they look most like crabs or lobsters, they would be sharks who die if they stop swimming. party animals want to live without boredom. they want to kill themselves if they are standing still.

but even party animals must hibernate. when the sun goes down. then they will notice all the pants & shattered longnecks bleeding green glass in the moonlight.

party animals will see the flaming swords being thrown like a faraway dream. they will be the fish they wanted to be & see silver hooks. they are dumb fish these party animals.

i ate a silver hook, rock hudson. i’m dead now, nanook.

dead like a buffalo.

/ 2 \ grapefruit toothpaste

tequila notebook {2}

mountains are safer than the ocean & the snow isn’t salty.

at the bottom of the ocean there is death & white pearls. at the top of the mountain there is a view & black diamonds. both lack oxygen.

they share that in common.

who would have thought that could keep me awake? after a modest cocktail of tequila, two port royals, & sudafed.

who would have thought i would think about a giraffarig? i saw one in a pokemon strategy guide once. i wanted it to have longer legs then & grapefruits for knee joints. if i ever capture one i will surgically enhance it with leg extenders & new joints. i’ll have to make sure there ripe.

but there’s something blinking, so i think i should go.

remember when you’re in the ocean that squids aren’t always friendly.

/ 1 \ garifuna who knew macumba

tequila notebook {1}

today we drove the boat through a hole in the wall.

on the other side, we tied bowlines to the cleats. i drank three rum punches & pet a galliforme.

he shook his red wattle like a maraca & danced lazy circles around the sinking dock after inhaling a dozen peyote buttons.

the smoke rose from the grill & i sliced off his head. we peeled black feathers & threw him on the fire.

bob blew a long mournful note on his conch shell when the turkey was dead. we ate like a sacrifice.

i ripped off his drumsticks & mixed them with the blood sauce of the beef tenderloin. i put the wing bones, one in each hand, by my sides & tried to fly above the ocean. i dove into the salt like a pelican & drowned.

i’m dead now.

in the afterlife, i met a garifuna who knew macumba. he had not been in brazil for many years but he spoke to me in portugese & i understood.

we pulled up our ropes & left jonesville after lunch. the wind picked up & it started to rain. i held out my tongue & washed out the salt taste.

angela & leon were skinny dipping in our pool when we got back.

i didn’t have a beak anymore. leon put on his khaki shorts & stalled us at the dock.
 she came out a few minutes later.

i wish i could have seen more than the hint of her wet tits.

-CR 16 june 02o09

33 1/3

33 1/3

vinyl winos spin

thirty three


one third

rounds per minute

we drink acid orange juice

on the summer solstice


we dance the longest day

of the year away

our neighbors

call the cops

but we don’t stop

we dance dance dance

dance dance dance